


have you seen her, tell me have you seen her?

by sepulchralsmile



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 02, flangst, im a soft little bitch lol, steve's mom getting the spotlight she deserves, well... not really crazy angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepulchralsmile/pseuds/sepulchralsmile
Summary: Vanessa Harrington knows that she's been lacking in the mother department for, well, a while. So when Steve picks up his grades, she decides a surprise visit is in order. Within the first hour of getting home, she finds her son asleep, and clutched around another boy. This is only the beginning of the whirlwind that ensues._or, the Steve Harrington's Parents Aren't Really All That Bad AU i've had stuck in my head forever.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & His Mom
Comments: 12
Kudos: 134





	have you seen her, tell me have you seen her?

**Author's Note:**

> lmaoooo i din't even know what really started this idea, i literally was just obsessing over the idea of somehow steve's mom walking in on them cuddling so much that it just got implanted in my brain and has refused to budge. fun fact: i planned on this literally only being like 3k lol. anyways, enjoy!

By the time her plane touches down on the landing strip, Vanessa Harrington is thoroughly exhausted. First, she had an hour-long flight from Paris to Amsterdam. No big hardship there. Then, she had a thirteen-hour flight from Amsterdam to Indianapolis. That was the one that did her in. First class on KLM doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things when you still have to stay cooped up in a cabin for more than ten hours.

There’s a little bit of foot traffic as she makes her way to the baggage claim. Nothing outrageous, since it’s just half past five in the morning. She’d rather get in early than test her patience with the 8 a.m. crowd. She only brought a suitcase and a carry-on, so it’s no bother to take it herself to the town car idling outside. The driver greets her warmly, before adjusting the heat and the radio. She lets the sound of The Chi-Lites wash over her for the two-hour drive to Hawkins.

This trip is supposed to be a surprise. A good one, hopefully, but Vanessa can’t help but worry her bottom lip between her teeth the whole ride there. Maybe she _should_ have called beforehand. It’s been about two and a half months since either of them stayed at the house, the last occasion being the three weeks they visited for Christmas and New Year’s. Richard desperately wanted to come as well once she told him she was making the trip but wasn’t able to get out of work for the time. He was chagrined but sent her with enough gifts for Steven to fill half of her carry on.

Around Christmastime, they had taken a look at Steve’s end of semester report and both had to take a gulp. Steven’s grades weren’t _completely_ abysmal, but they were definitely… lacking, to say the least. Steven had never been overly ambitious with school, but he had always been able to coast with an acceptable GPA. In the last year or so that had transformed into less than coasting, to a large enough degree that even Richard took notice. Christmas break had opened their eyes to the fact that this was no longer just a case of being a bad school year, but rather an ongoing problem.

However, they hadn’t really set themselves up in the best position to impart judgement: parenting was usually done by parents who were, well, _there_. They both knew it. So they bit their tongues and told Steven that _there’s always next semester to start fresh_. That night they whispered in bed what to do and decided to stick with what they knew best: let the situation ride out its full course. Whenever Richard felt that guilt and pressure it always drove him to work in overdrive, operating under the belief that the best way to _fix_ things was to make sure everyone could be provided for. She wasn’t much different, coping in a similar way by throwing herself into her own work to try and distract herself from the fact that she felt like a sham of a mother. Every night when she switched off the bedside lamp in their apartment in Paris, she could feel that heavy fog of guilt settle over them, making the silence right before falling asleep feel suffocating.

And then, something surprising happened. Steve mailed them his first progress report of the second semester, and they were gob smacked when his grades showed a remarkable improvement. Not only that, but even the comments from the teachers in the margins were encouraging and complimentary, something they hadn’t seen since elementary school. They called him and took turns exchanging the receiver to gush praise, Steve seemed pleased even though he was bashfully reticent over the phone. When the second progress report came and showed even _more_ good grades, Vanessa spontaneously decided to drop in for a weeklong visit as a reward. She was well aware of how awful that made her sound, using her simple presence as some kind of positive reinforcement, but it was the best she could swing on such short notice. It was the most excited she’d been for weeks.

Only, it’s now starting to occur to her that Steven may not be as excited as she is for their upcoming time together. He’s lived without the two of them long enough to have his own _environment_ and _routines_ , showcased in the last visit by the way he was comfortable going out at all hours of the night to go “driving” (of course Vanessa doesn’t believe all he’s doing is _driving around Hawkins_ , but it’s one of those things that she doesn’t feel like she’s earned the right to comment on), and the way their chachki’s and decorations are stored away while his things are all over the place. It was another thing neither of them felt confident enough to chide him on.

It’s too late to turn back, though, _literally_ too late since it’s not like she can book a flight from the car. By the time they’re pulling up she’s already trying to settle the swooping sensation in her stomach. The lights are all on, of course, even though she knows Steven is probably still asleep. He likes to keep them on almost all the time if their electric bill every month is anything to go by. Just add that to the list of things they feel guilty about enough to ignore.

She rolls her suitcase into the mudroom and drops her keys into the glass dish on the table near the door. She drops her carry on and takes off her earrings as well, throwing them into the bowl with the keys. For now, she’ll leave her things in the front entryway, she’s too tired to haul them up to the room. She’ll just quick peek into Steven’s room to see if he’s awake yet, and maybe give him a peck. If he’s still asleep, she’ll just head to the master and shut her eyes until he wakes up. She’s careful to slip her shoes off before heading up the carpeted stairs. If there’s one thing Vanessa is surprised about, it’s the fact that her white carpets still look relatively pristine. She’s not sure when Steven got the thick black combat boots that were lying haphazardly in the mudroom, but she’s thankful even _he_ could tell they were too dirty to be worn into the house. When she gets to Steve’s room, she slowly and quietly cracks the door open.

The first two things she notices are the mess and the smell. The lingering scent of pot smoke hangs in the air, heavy enough to make her wrinkle her nose in distaste. Not that Vanessa is entirely _surprised_ , of course, seeing as she and Richard were practically letting a teenage boy _live by himself_ for Chrissakes. The smattering of clothing and dirty laundry is no surprise as well, and she’s halfway into his room and picking up a shirt before she takes another look around. What she _is_ surprised by is the fact that there is _another person in Steven’s bed_.

Vanessa is completely mortified, already determined to sneak out silently and sit in her room for a couple hours _contemplating_ , when she notices something else. Not only is it another person in the bed, but it’s a _boy_. And that might not be the most outrageous thing, except that the way they’re wrapped up in each other is no way she’s ever seen two platonic male friends hold each other. The only thing she feels sure enough doing is slowly inching backwards and trying to shut the door as unobtrusively as possible. Once she’s on the other side, she takes a steadying breath before deciding she needs coffee for this. There’s no way she can go to sleep now, so she might as well get some kind of fortification for the conversation she’s about to have.

It’s the 80’s, Christ Almighty, so it’s not like she doesn’t _know_ what this means. Not only that, but she also majored in art history, so she’s well aware of what it means when two men consistently share their lives with one another, it’s pretty well documented throughout time considering. It’s not talked about that often, of course, but everyone _knew_. No one just says anything in class because they don’t want to be the first one to bring it up. Vanessa has no issues with those who decide to live their life in that way, and as a curator she operates under the belief that much art wouldn’t even be possible today if it weren’t for those people in the community. She has no compunctions over this thought process either. Richard operates under the same sort of belief; to him it doesn’t matter if you’re good at your job. They’re both less rigid than either of their parents, that’s for sure.

The only thing is that this comes as somewhat of a shock, considering Steven’s past relationships. Not that she knows every detail, but she’s gleaned enough over the years to realize that Steven is especially popular with the female population of Hawkins. He’d even had a girlfriend for the longest time, sweet and plain Nancy that they’d met once or twice. She knew they broke up months ago, she just thought that the person he’d moved on with now would be…female. It’s a mental tailspin to go through all her memories of Steve as a child and see if there was anything she didn’t pick up on.

When she gets to the kitchen, she’s both surprised and not to see a pot already brewing. Steve _does_ live here after all; he’s probably used to having his coffee in the morning. Half of her mind is feeling rotten for not being able to recall that Steven likes coffee, and the other half wonders if his companion shares it with him too. When she opens the fridge for the coffee cream, she’s struck once again. An overly sweet and saturated creamer along with the random soda cans and junk food is expected, but what _isn’t_ is the vegetables on the bottom shelves or the Tupperware’s filled with what looks like homecooked meals. She wasn’t aware Steven even knew how to boil water. Honestly, Vanessa’s still not completely sure he’s the one who even cooked them. Instead of analyzing further, though, she just pours in the cream and parks herself over by the kitchen table.

More evidence of another person in Steven’s life is displayed here. Right next to her sons blue Jansport is a worn tan messenger bag, bulging and slightly heavy when she uses the strap to drag it towards herself. She flips it open, completely shameless in her curiosity, and reels back a little bit when she mostly sees books in there. She takes them out carefully, noting the well-worn covers and soft paper pages that speak of years of use. There’s some Tim O’Brien books, and she recognizes one of the titles as one that sits on Richard’s desk in his office. No surprise there, apparently all men love to read fictional war stories. The two Shakespeare paperbacks raise her eyebrows a little bit, especially when she flips through them and finds the pages stacked with annotations. The _most_ surprising, though, is the collection of Flannery O’Connor short stories tucked in with the rest. Vanessa was _just_ contemplating buying this at the store the other day. She’s flipping through it, skimming _A Good Man Is Hard to Find_ , when she hears a sound upstairs followed by footsteps. She sticks the books back in, pulse in her ears, and slides the bag over to Steven’s. Her heart feels like it’s beating out of her chest. The coffee really doesn’t help.

It’s Steven, thank God, which is comforting. There was no way she was mentally prepared to deal with anyone else at this point, especially since Steven doesn’t know she just dropped in in the first place. Her chinks pink up immediately when she sees him, though; he’s only clad in boxers and he has an almost _alarming_ amount of hickies on his chest, and more mortifyingly for her to notice, his thighs. Steven just whistles, unbothered as he ambles slowly over to the coffee maker, obviously not having spotted her in the corner yet. She’s about to say something when she sees him notice the creamer still sitting out, and his shoulders tense up before he spins around. His eyes are wide when he takes her in.

“Mom?” he squeaks.

She gives a half-wave, for lack of a better response. “Hi, honey,” she offers meekly.

Steven blinks, before apparently realizing his state of undress. His cheeks go red as he tries to subtly cover the marks with his arm. Not that he’s really been able to do _anything_ subtle. “Um, what are you doing here?”

He sounds just as awkward as she feels. “I decided to drop by to surprise you, because of your grades. I thought we could spend the week together.”

His eyes flit to the doorway leading to the stairs for half a second before going back to her own. She can practically see the gears shifting to determine how he’s about to get away with sneaking a whole person out.

She takes pity on him and decides to lay it out there before he comes up with some harebrained scheme. “I went into your room earlier this morning. To come and say hello. You were… already sleeping.”

 _Now_ his eyes grow wide. “Uh, um,” he stutters. He’s never been that good of thinking right on the spot. “Did you?” he trails off, not specifying anything.

She nods. “I also happened to notice you weren’t alone.”

Steven gives a hysterical laugh, which would have made her snort if she couldn’t see how tense he is. “Oh, that? That was…um, that—”

“It’s okay, honey,” she cuts him off before it looks like he has a stroke. “I don’t mind you having… people spend the night.”

“Right,” he says distantly, still staring at her with those big brown eyes. Right now they hold the same look he would always get when he was expecting them to yell at him. It makes her sigh and slide the coffee away.

He doesn’t move as she approaches him slowly, looking like it’s taking all of his energy to stay still and not inch away as she gets closer. He’s almost trembling by the time she takes his face in her hands, and she runs her thumbs down his cheeks to calm him down like she used to when he was still a child.

“Oh, darling,” she sighs softly when he still doesn’t calm down, “Take a breath. Do you really think I’m angry?”

He doesn’t say anything, just gives an unsure shrug. His eyes are still as big as saucers as he takes her in. She pulls him into a hug instead of saying anything else and gives a breath of relief when he folds into her arms rather than resisting. One hand rubs his back, while the other goes to rest on his nape. Slowly but surely, he unclenches, until he’s no longer shaking. She takes a breath, is about to say something else, when another person walks into the kitchen. Vanessa sees him before Steve does, with his back turned to the entryway the way they’re facing.

Steven’s guest is just as scantily clad as he is, with a matching array of his own hickies that she studiously ignores in favor of getting a good look at him. She’s got to hand it to Steve, at least, for having good taste. Hopefully, he got that from her. The strapping young man is already yawning when he comes in, stretching and cracking his back loudly. When he makes eye contact with her and takes in the scene, he stops dead in his tracks.

If she thought Steven was scared, it’s _nothing_ compared to his boyfriend. His eyes nearly bulge out of his skull and he looks about a half a second away from darting out of there, sans clothes and everything. He’s gone white as a sheet and is already taking a step backwards when Steve pulls from her arms to go to him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says hurriedly, already reaching out to grab at the other boy. “It’s alright, it’s okay.”

He grabs his arm, gently tugging him into the kitchen. She doesn’t fail to notice how tightly wound the mystery guest is, and how his eyes keep shifting to the back door like he still might make a run for it when given the chance. Steven must notice it too, if the way he tightens his hand around his wrist is any indication.

“Hello, I’m Steven’s mother. It’s nice to meet you.” She tries to offer as calmly as possible. He seems like he gets the spooks easily.

“Um, hello… ma’am,” he hastily adds. He seems to get his wits about him a little bit. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you are?” she asks when he doesn’t say anything else.

That question looks like it makes him want to flee all over again, but he stands his ground. It looks like it takes him a boatload of effort to get out, “Billy Hargrove, ma’am.”

“Well Billy, it’s nice to meet you as well. Why don’t you and Steve go get changed, and we can have breakfast?” It’s the first thing that comes to her mind, even though she hasn’t cooked breakfast in years. Judging by Steve’s look, he’s aware of how odd this is as well. She opts to ignore him; she still knows how to fry _eggs_ after all.

Billy looks to Steve to see what he’s thinking and is mollified when Steve agrees for the both of them. He still looks a little shaky and unsure, and only snaps out of it when Steve lightly tugs him in the direction of the stairs. She waits until they’re out of the room before she takes a steadying breath and counts to ten. Time to cook some eggs. Richard would be _floored_ if he saw her now.

~

Once he gets over his palpable anxiety, Billy is surprisingly _charming_. Not only that, but he’s also whip-smart and wittier than any of Steve’s other friends she’s met. He’s polite enough to ask about her job as an art curator and is also polite enough to pay attention when she gives a condensed version of what she actually does. She’s aware it makes her sound stuffy as hell, so she usually tries to break it down to its bare essentials so it’s not obvious how boring her job really is to other people.

The right word to describe Billy would be _effervescent_. That’s a 23-point word on _blank_ squares in Scrabble, and also the perfect descriptor. Whatever Steve tells him in the twenty minutes it takes for them to get dressed must do wonders, because by the time they’re sitting down and eating he’s done a complete 180 from the Billy she met moments previous. This Billy does not have that tense fear in his shoulders (although she does notice that he never truly unwinds during the whole conversation), and he’s also a hell of a lot chattier than he was before. Within about two seconds she was able to guess that this was for sure an embellishment and his way of coping with his obvious anxiety, but she was genuinely so tickled by his obvious façade that she didn’t mind the role as much as she would have.

He’s very captivating, in the way he draws you in. He’s obviously very knowledgeable on a multitude of subjects—better than any jack of all trades she’s ever met. No matter what, he’s always moving as well; whether it be the absent erratic tapping of his fingers on the table or the leg that bounces up and down intermittently. She’s not the only one to notice this quality if Steve’s goo-goo eyes are anything to go by. Billy doesn’t seem to notice, though, which is at least comforting for her own sons’ dignity. It’s funny; she never thought she’d be interested in a conversation with a teenager, but to be honest it’s the most stimulating conversation she’d had with someone other than Richard in a _while_.

“Wait,” Billy says in near awe, “You’ve seen Zeppelin _live?_ ”

“Yep,” she’s very proud of this fact, “November 14th, 1980, almost one month before they broke up. We were one of the last four shows they played in Chicago. I’m surprised Steve hasn’t told you about this, though, seeing as he was there as well.”

Steve groans out, “Mom _,_ ” the same time Billy says, “Wait, _what?_ ”

Billy’s mouth is open and gaping like a fish, torn between staring at her in disbelief and Steve in betrayal. “Steve never mentioned that _at all_ ,”

“Oh, that’s probably because he had such a rotten time,” she said, laughing. “Half the concert he spent it plugging his ears, the other half he kept wailing about how there wasn’t any popcorn or anything.”

It’s one of her most treasured memories. Richard had surprised her with the tickets as an anniversary gift, and Steve had begged and begged to come along with them even though he had never liked rock music. They finally gave in and ended up switching turns sitting down and rubbing Steve’s back for most of the concert.

Billy lets out a disbelieving laugh, eyes still alight with mischief as he takes Steve in. Steve, on the other hand, has his cherry red face buried in his hands.

“Mom, I can’t believe you would do this to me,” he says, still muffled by his hands, “You really have no clue what you’ve done now.”

Both her and Billy share in a laugh while she nudges her foot against Steve’s under the table. When he peeks through his fingers, he’s smiling, so she knows she at least didn’t embarrass him _too_ bad.

Billy glances at his watch and blanches. “Sorry, I gotta get out of here. My old man will want me home soon.”

She doesn’t miss the way Steve’s body full-on freezes at that. Billy doesn’t look much better either, having gone a little green at the gills. There’s no subtle way for her to pry, and especially this early, so she just keeps her mouth shut. She catalogues it as something to inquire about later with Steven, though.

“Well,” she says a bit carefully to break the tension, “It was very nice to meet you. You’re welcome over any time, especially if you’re willing to lend me that Flannery O’Connor.”

It does the job with breaking the line of stress in Billy’s shoulders at least, and both the chuckle and smile he gives seem genuine. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

Steven makes sure to walk him _up_ the stairs and _down_ the stairs and even outside to the ostentatious blue Camaro she didn’t notice parked two doors down. When he comes back in, they make eye contact across the kitchen and living room, and she knows he can tell she wants to talk. “Give me like five minutes to brush my teeth,” he sighs.

This time when they settle down it’s in the sitting room. She always liked this one more than the actual living room, always liked how it was smaller and cozier. Years ago she spent a decent chunk of change to get shelves built into one of the walls so she could put her favorite hardbacks there. They’re color coded, with knick knacks in between. Staring at it now, seeing it collecting dust, she wonders why she bothered when she’s never here anyway.

“So, let’s just start with the obvious, I guess,” Steve pipes up. She’s not surprised; he always was chatty when he felt nervous. “I have a—um. A boyfriend.”

She nods kindly. That much _is_ obvious. “I assumed so.”

“Right, um. I guess you’re wondering when…I…decided—”

“Why don’t you start off with when you two met?” she interjects. It’s worrying her how stressed Steve looks over this.

At this, he relaxes a little bit, but still not all that much. “Uh, he moved here. In the fall. From California.”

“Oh really?” Billy hadn’t even mentioned it, “Why did they move?”

Steve gives an uncomfortable shrug. He knows, but he’s not willing to tell her. The tension still hangs palpable and thick. She tries to veer another direction. “So you two were friends, then?”

This time he gives an uneasy chuckle and scrubs the back of his neck. “I… guess you could say that.”

“Steven,” she sighs. It’s hard to see him so taciturn when it feels like he wants to tell her so _much_. “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m asking because I genuinely want to know, not because I’m trying to _trap_ you or something.”

“I just—I don’t know why you’re being so _calm_ about this,” Steve says finally, “Like, you’re just acting like this isn’t a big deal to you or anything. Like I don’t know that you’re probably gonna call dad and then you guys are gonna talk about how I’m ruining the family name, or—”

“Steven,” she interjects again, horrified, “Do you really think that? That this is some… some _make or break_ thing? I’ll admit, it does come as a bit of a surprise. But you can’t actually believe we would be _disappointed_ in you for something like this?”

He just stares back at her, nonplussed. “I don’t know how you _can’t_ be.” He says finally.

She’s reaching for him before she can even think, lurching across the loveseat to wrap him in her arms like they used to do when he was younger. It hurts to feel him stiffen at first, and how it takes him a minute or so to actually relax into it. It’s what she deserves, though.

It takes her a couple minutes to get herself together, and she makes sure to wipe her eyes before she pulls back. “I’m so sorry honey, I’m sorry if we ever made you feel that way. I hate that you felt like you had to hide something like this, especially when I can see it makes you so happy.”

He does another one of those uncomfortable half-shrugs that she’s not used to. “I mean, what would be the point of bothering you guys? It’s too… I couldn’t just tell you over the phone.” The unspoken _and you’re never here_ sits between them.

“I know that we’re not around much,” and isn’t _that_ the understatement of the century, “But we still _care_ about you, and love you. I hope you don’t doubt that.”

“I dunno, I guess I just thought it would be this… I mean, I feel like any other parent would be _wigging out_.”

“Well, it’s not like you two are the first gay people I’ve ever met. Your father as well.”

His eyes almost boggled out of his skull. She rolled her own. “Steven, I work in the _art world_.”

“Right,” he was still looking at her like _she_ was the crazy one. “Well, I don’t think I technically am. Gay, I mean.”

“Oh?”

He didn’t look her in the eyes, cheeks pinking up again. “I mean, I still like girls. And I really did love Nancy. I just… happen to also be attracted to guys.”

“Hm, okay,” she muses, “I honestly should have seen this coming. You always were so sensitive as a child.”

“ _Mom_ , what is that even supposed to mean?”

She’s quick to defend herself, “It’s true! You’d get a little crush, and then it’d turn into a _big crush_ , and it would almost take over your entire life. You always were very invested in the other person. It should make sense that your heart is more open than others.”

Now _that_ comment got him properly red. “Mom, that is such a mom thing to say. Trying to tell me my heart is too big or something.”

“I mean, do you think I’m wrong?” she asked. “Tell me honestly that you don’t feel strongly for Billy. I don’t think you could pass off the looks you were giving him as anything casual.”

He looked mortified that she noticed, but he didn’t argue with her, proving her point. When he didn’t say anything else, she decided to let the conversation rest for a while. “Why don’t I let you do your homework for a couple hours? I hate to say it, but the jet lag is starting to really hit me.”

Steve looked grateful for her out. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll… see you in a bit, I guess?”

She nodded, hating that he still sounded so unsure. “Yes, I’ll come get you for lunch.”

~

Whatever epiphany or breakthrough she thought may have happened between her and Steve didn’t occur that first day, or the second day, or even the third. That first day and a half it seemed like he startled every time she came into the room, or when he got back from school to see her sitting on the couch. He was continuously surprised to see her there, which was something that twisted at her heart. She told Richard the very same thing over the phone when he did his daily calls. He was good about calling her during the daytime, even though she knew the difference in Paris had him calling in the middle of the night.

She never mentioned anything about Billy or Steve’s sexuality, already feeling guilty that she had technically taken the information from Steve without his permission. It also didn’t feel like the right thing to talk about over the phone, like Steve had said. If he gave her permission to tell his father then she would do so once she got back into Paris, and not a moment sooner.

Steve was surprised when she told him the same. “Wait, really? You haven’t told dad yet?”

She blinked. “I didn’t want to without your permission. Should I have?”

“No, no, I mean—I’ll tell dad _obviously_ at some point. I was just… I don’t know. Thanks for not telling him though.”

After that, he thawed a little bit. It was easier to pull information from him, and not just the big stuff but the little things as well. Like how the reason he was able to pull his grades up was apparently Billy.

“He’s been tutoring you?” she asked. She hadn’t even considered how Steve could have suddenly seemed so motivated.

“Yeah, he’s super smart, even though he tries not to let anyone know,” Steve rolled his eyes. “He’s practically helping me in everything.”

“Not _everything_ ,” she argued, “You’ve always been decent at math. Better than I’ve ever been.”

“Okay, well he’s tutoring me in a lot. He basically dragged my English grade from the ground up.”

“I did notice that.” she admitted. “He seemed like he was a reader, as well.”

“Yeah, he could probably give you a run for your money. He says he actually likes school, and learning and stuff.” She raised her brows at that. “Shocking, I know.”

“Well, I’m happy that he’s been able to help you so much. Is he going to come by again this week?”

“Would it—would it be okay?”

“Of course, Steven, I offered for a reason,” she reminded him gently, “He’s welcome any time he feels.”

Steve looks assured at that, but the conversation does remind her of something she had tried to think of whenever she first met Billy. “What are his parents like? Do you know what they do?”

Immediately she knows she’s pressed onto a touchy subject. It’s obvious in the way Steve starts shifting uncomfortably, avoiding any direct eye contact with her. She doesn’t make it easy on him this time, though, determined to get some kind of straightforward answer about Billy.

“Well,” he says after a couple seconds of searching for the words, “He has a stepmom, and a stepsister. I know his stepmom is a file clerk, and his dad works in landscaping.”

She waits for him to continue. He doesn’t. “And?” she prompts, “Anything else? Do they get along?”

Steve bites his lip. It’s something he always does right before he lies or tries to tell even something nearing a fib. Her and Richard thought it was so adorable when he was younger, now it only serves to unsettle her when he says, “Yeah, they get along okay.”

She stares at him head on. Long eye contact was always one of the best ways to wear him down. It doesn’t help that they have almost exactly the same eyes, so it’s like looking into a mirror.

He breaks first. “I mean, he gets along alright with his stepmom, and him and his stepsister have gotten better. His dad is just… kind of a hardass.”

“Kind of a hardass, that’s it?” she does not believe for a second it is. “And you’re sure that’s all you need to tell me?”

He looks torn between wanting to actually divulge it to her and being unable to. “I want to tell you, and I would. It’s just—I don’t feel right telling you _his_ business without having him know first.”

Well, that’s fair. It’s the same argument she used for not telling Richard about Billy in the first place, so it’d be hypocritical for her to argue with that. It’s maddening, but she can’t help but be touched by how caring Steve truly is.

“Alright, that’s fair. I just hope you know if _anything_ should happen, you can come to me.” It’s the best she can offer for the time being.

It doesn’t feel like much, but it seems Steve feels otherwise. This time when they hug, she’s not the first person to move into it, but him. It feels good to clutch him close and feel his heartbeat, like a reassurance that at the end of the day this hug will protect them both from everything on the outside. When they split apart it feels like the shield goes with them, but she still feels warm all over.

Steve takes her offer to heart, because Billy comes home with him from school the next day. She’s sat in the living room, waiting for Steve like she’s done for the past couple of days. With her books sprawled out on the coffee table. After staring and staring at that damn book wall she’s decided to piece through her collections and see what she doesn’t need and what she should take back to Paris with her. It makes no sense to just have those books _sitting_ there and not serving their purpose.

Billy looks a little nervous when he greets her at first, toeing off his boots with a second thought—which is impressive, seeing as Steven always goes a couple steps before forgetting and yanking them off. When he sees the books laid out, however, the anxious look in his eye is replaced by a gleam of interest.

He whistles lowly. “Nice collection, Ms. Harrington.”

She smiles, she knew Billy would probably appreciate it. “Thank you, I spent a while collecting these. I’m going through them, though, because I realize I haven’t read at least half of these in _ages_.”

He bends down and touches the scarlet cover of a Neruda compilation for a second, before seemingly remembering himself and withdrawing back. “These are all in really good condition. I bet you’d be able to get a good price for them.”

“Actually,” she says, the idea coming to her at the sight of Billy touching the book almost reverently, “Why don’t you go through my stack? You can have first pick and I can donate the rest.”

Billy’s eyes widen, and he’s quick to say, “I really couldn’t. I appreciate it, though.”

She waves him away. Boys can be so foolish and prideful sometimes, especially _teenage_ boys. There’s no evidence yet that it doesn’t carry over to adulthood. “Oh, please, of course you can. I’d be getting rid of them, anyway, might as well give them to someone who will for sure enjoy them.”

He bites his lip, wavering between the obvious yes he wants to give but the no that still keeps him tethered. She gives an encouraging smile, and that seems to break his resolve.

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

He crouches down and gently picks up the books one by one, looking at the spines for the title and author. It’s almost amusing to watch how painstakingly careful he is with the books, if it wasn’t so endearing to her in the first place. When she glances up, she sees Steve is an almost mirrored expression of what she was feeling. The fond look in his eyes almost takes her aback. It’s not often she’s left feeling out of the loop, or like a stranger, but watching how Steve looks at Billy reminds her that Steve has truly evolved into his own person, with his own life and experiences not concerning his parents at all. Obviously, it was bound to happen, as no child shares _everything_ with a parent, but this is much starker than what she thought it would be. With it comes the knowledge that she really doesn’t know Steve, she probably wouldn’t be able to know him how she thought she would unless her and Richard actually spent time with him.

It takes her a couple seconds to blink and get herself back under control. Steve is still watching Billy sort through the titles, smile tugging at the edge of his lips. Billy chooses the Neruda, a Tolstoy and Dostoevsky that she’s cracked open maybe twice for both, and interestingly _Mrs. Dalloway_. She sees him eyeing a couple more, but he looks like he won’t even let himself take another, so she doesn’t press. She can tell Steve to tell him later.

“Thank you, I can’t—I really appreciate it.” his honesty is palpable.

“Of course, I’m happy that someone will treasure them like they should be.” It seems like for all that Billy is an out-there character, he’s surprisingly guarded concerning a lot. Vanessa feels the strange urge to reassure him every moment they speak.

“Well, we’re gonna go up to my room and tackle my history project.” Steve says. “Did you… wanna?” he leaves the question hanging for her to pick up.

“How about I order in whenever you guys are ready, does that sound alright?” They’ve picked up food the last two nights but if Billy is staying for dinner, she doesn’t want to subject him to anything other than breakfast food—which is the only thing she knows how to make.

“Ah, sorry, I can’t stay for dinner. I’ve got to eat with my family at seven.” Billy says. She doesn’t miss yet again the way Steve shifts uncomfortably next to him.

“Alright then, maybe another time. I guess I’ll just let you two go about your business.” she waves them off.

They bound up the stairs, reminding her once again how _old_ she’s gotten, she can’t fathom having that kind of energy burst these days. Not to mention it would kill her knees to try running up that quickly.

She goes back to the books, sorting through them again but making sure to leave a big obvious pile still sitting on the coffee table _just_ in case Billy changes his mind.

~

Friday comes quicker than she thought it would be, and the thought of boarding a plane tomorrow and flying back to work makes her more depressed than she thought she would be. The whole week with Steve was just _so good_ , something she didn’t even realize she missed like a phantom limb until it was brough to her attention. While Steve is at school, she talks to Richard.

“I don’t know, I’m kind of thinking of staying another week.” She admits while twirling the cord between her fingers.

Richard sighs on the other end. “The best I could do to come out there is in three weeks. You think he’d want to see me?”

“Oh, Richard, of course he would,” she assures, feeling mostly confident that she’s right.

“Why don’t you stay there for the time being, I’ll book a flight and then we’ll leave together?”

“Really?” she asks. “You don’t mind being alone up there for a couple weeks?” the second it’s out of her mouth she knows they both can see the hypocrisy in it. If Steve can go _months_ without seeing them, she shouldn’t be worried about a grown man.

He doesn’t say the obvious, just gives her a gentle, “I’m sure, dear. I’ll be fine.”

When she tells Steve she poses it more as a question, afraid that he’ll take it as an encroachment or something like that, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Really? Four weeks?”

He looks so surprised. She tries not to let the shatter show on her face. “Yes, and your father could come down in three weeks and spend the last week with us. Does that sound alright?”

“Dad would come too?” his eyebrows have climbed up his forehead. “Who died?” he asks, almost accusatory.

“No one, sweetie, we just both want to see you.”

“Oh, okay,” Steve says, still looking confused by the prospect. “Well, yeah, that sounds awesome.”

Her smile feels wooden when she gives it to him. He goes out later that night, presumably to hang out with Billy, and while he’s gone, she lays under her covers and cries about how her own son looked like he didn’t _believe_ her when she said they wanted to visit him. They’ve done this to him, made him believe that he was some kind of… placeholder in their lives. It hurts so bad to realize, hurts even more to see it in the flesh. After feeling sorry for herself, she rinses cold water onto her face and blows her nose.

She’s determined to get past this. She can’t just lay around in bed and feel bad for neglecting her own son, she has to actually spring into _action_. If that means doing whatever is necessary to assure Steve that he’s loved and cherished, then so be it.

The next morning she tries to be as chipper as possible, to hopefully counteract the fog of gloom that had settle dover her during the night, but Steve is more perceptive than she thinks.

“Is everything okay? Is this about yesterday?” he asks over lunch. Or, well, breakfast for lunch. Her guilt caused her to get out the pancake mix and chocolate chips.

“Yesterday?” she’s shocked that he was able to pick up on that.

“Yeah, I mean. You just looked kinda… off whenever you told me about staying. Do you not want to? If you have work stuff I don’t—”

“No, Steve, no,” she cuts him off, “That’s not it. The opposite, actually. I—I know we’re not good at showing it, well, at all, but your father and I do miss spending time with you. The both of us feel bad for leaving you up here all alone all the time.”

Steve didn’t say anything, so she continued. “It’s—your father and I are two sides of the same coin. We both do the same thing so well: avoid the situation. I daresay we do it too well, probably more than what’s good for you.”

He scratched his jaw uncomfortably. “I mean, it’s really okay now. I’ve gotten used to it, at this point.”

She sighs. “I know. I guess I just hate that you’ve had to.”

“It’s honestly okay, Mom. I know you guys are busy, I know you wanna be here.” He looks so earnest it makes her heart clench. She lessens it by reaching across the table and touching a hand to his cheek.

“We’re going to try harder, though, alright?” she looked him in the eyes as if that could convey it even further, “I swear we are.”

He gifts her with a small smile. “Alright. I _am_ looking forward to seeing Dad, too. So. You can tell him that, next time he calls.”

She smiles. “Of course, honey.”

~

It’s halfway through the second week when she’s driving down the road at night. It’s raining, of course, because if Hawkins is good for anything it’s for abysmal weather. It’s also still cold as hell, which just adds to the misery of it all. Her favorite thing in Paris was the way the rain looked on the streets, reflecting the streetlamps and tall buildings with ornate decorations. In Hawkins she gets to see the reflection of the Mini-Mart in the parking lot.

She had to pick up some basics, determined to not eat out _every night_ like they’ve been doing so far. If that means she has to bust out the heavy old tome she calls a cookbook, then so be it. Following recipes is fine. It’ll be easy. How hard can it be to make a damn King Ranch casserole?

She’s so lost in thought about her future disasters in the kitchen that she _almost_ misses the person walking down the sidewalk. She honestly wouldn’t have even stopped, still, if it weren’t for that tell-tale blond mullet. She rolls down her window and slows down, smile already on her face. “H—”

Whatever she was about to say dies on her lips. Billy had looked up at the sound of a car pulling next to him, and that gave her a god look at his face. Which does not look good. His left eye is swollen, his lip is busted, and the way he’s holding himself says that there’s probably further injuries she can’t see. Not only that, but he’s only in a denim jacket, when she knows it must be _freezing_ right now. The rain stopped about an hour ago, but the chill stuck around.

“Billy?” she says instead, “What happened?”

“Nothing, just got into it with another guy,” he shifts from foot to foot. They’re talking through the open passenger window. He shivers a little.

“Where’s your car?” she asks. It’s not exactly great weather for a walk, especially when you have injuries like that. His nose and fingers are red.

“It’s at home.” He hedges, giving an answer but not giving the full one.

She kills the engine and steps out of the car, walking around it to meet Billy. It’s dark, but she’s still able to see how much of a mess he looks. She glances down at his hands and makes note of the unblemished knuckles. She bites her lip, debating.

“Do you want to come back with me?” she offers. “I was just at the grocery store, getting some stuff. I was about to attempt a home-cooked dinner tonight.”

He’s still cautiously regarding her, but he lets out a soft laugh at that. “It’s alright, I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense, I highly doubt Steve will be disappointed to see you.” She wonders at his reaction to Billy in this state, though. Wonders how often it is Billy gets into a fight and lets himself get hurt. He doesn’t seem the type.

It takes a little more cajoling, but he finally agrees to get in the car with her. Vanessa cranks the heat immediately, and he gratefully hunches over it to try to get as much hot air as possible. They don’t talk the whole ride there, Billy still shivering and Vanessa biting her lip as her mind races miles ahead of her.

She tries to stop him from helping her bring in the groceries, horrified that he might hurt himself further, but Billy is adamant about being okay enough to help. He winces when she gives him two bags, though, so she opts for piling the others in her hands.

“Steven?” she calls when she gets in. “Would you come down please?”

They take the bags to the kitchen while Steve bounces down the steps. In the light Billy’s face looks so much worse, so _painful_ that she automatically reaches out, trying to comfort or whatever her thought process was. What’s the most telling thing is the way he flinches back, recoiling like she was about to blacken the other eye. She’s about to say something again when Steve comes in the room.

“Mom? Billy? Why’re you—” he catches sight of Billy’s face. “What the _fuck_.”

He doesn’t look surprised, like she thought he might be. Instead, he looks angry, expression thundering darkly as he walks over to Billy and immediately goes to cradle his head. Billy flinches back from that, too, but Steve soldiers on anyways. The way he regards Billy’s injuries is like he’s cataloguing them, analyzing every bruised inch of his face.

“Your ribs, too?” he asks quietly. Billy nods his head minutely, nervously glancing back at where she’s still standing. Steve’s expression goes even darker, turns into something ugly she’s never seen on his face before. “I swear to God…”

Vanessa Harrington is no fool. Aside from being a somewhat gifted academic with a master’s in art history, she’s also very able to read the room very well. One must have a good sense of people to be able to be in the curating industry, especially when someone’s trying to sell you something that’s much more than what it’s worth. Therefore, it is not difficult to connect the dots between Billy’s small actions and the fact that Steve is so recalcitrant towards Billy’s father, along with the way he clammed up the last time she asked about his home life.

“Steven, go get the first-aid in the guest room. That one has more arnica in it, I think.” She orders when no one makes any further movements.

Steve startles, like he forgot she was even there. He looks like he wants to object, not leave Billy’s side, but he must determine that Billy’s injuries need treating more than putting up a fuss.

Billy doesn’t turn, even as he leaves the room.

“Billy?” she says gently. “Do you want to sit?”

He doesn’t say anything, just walks stiffly to the kitchen table. She follows, feeling the magnetic urge to make sure he’s not by himself. They both sit down at the table, Billy letting out a pained breath as he settles in the chair.

“I’m going to assume you don’t want me to call anyone, right?” His injuries don’t look like they’re anything major, but she’d still like to take him to some kind of _clinic_ or something.

“No, please don’t,” he pleads. She nods, even though it’s completely the opposite of what she wants to do. She’s afraid if she pushes too much, though, Billy will flee.

“It’s your father, right?” she asks.

Billy grimaces, which is answer enough. “Steve tell you that?”

“No, he actually purposefully didn’t tell me because he knew it would probably make you upset.” she reveals. Once again, she respects Steve’s respect for Billy, but _god_ she wishes he had just told her _this_.

Billy huffs a little. “Yeah, that sounds like Steve.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Inwardly, she sighs. “I suppose calling the police is not an option?”

He practically lurches out of his seat, and she reaches to steady him, alarmed at how quickly he moved. “No, you can’t, _please_ , you can’t ca—”

“Billy, sit _down_ ,” Steve demands, walking back into the kitchen with the bag. Billy sends a distrustful look her way but acquiesces. “No one’s gonna call anyone. Now can you please sit still so I can take a look?”

She wants to argue with the blanket statement of _no one’s gonna call anyone_ , but she’s smart enough to tell that that would only get Billy started again. It’s a little disturbing how easily Steve settles into the role of healer, dabbing wipes at Billy’s lip and gently rubbing the gel into his bruises. He tugs on Billy’s shirt and ignores his skeptical look until he rolls his eyes and lifts it up.

Her stomach rolls with nausea at the sight of the mottled dark bruising on his side. It’s so horrid she has to press a hand to her mouth, if only so she won’t make a noise of disgust. Neither of them looks her way; Steve determinedly trailing his fingers over the bruising while Billy stares out of the opposite window, ignoring them both.

Once he deems a good enough job with the arnica, he sighs and sits back up. She takes it as her own cue. “Billy, why don’t you go change into some of Steve’s clothes upstairs? I can run these through the washer and dryer.”

Billy still looks wary of the situation, but he’s not really in a place to argue right now and knows it. He nods and stiffly walks towards the exit, and when Steve makes to go after him, she grabs his sleeve. She doesn’t need to tug twice to get him to stop.

“Steven,” she says urgently once she’s sure Billy is at least halfway up the stairs. “You should have told me about _this_. This isn’t just not getting along with his father, this is _serious._ ”

“Don’t you think I wanted to?” he hissed back, just as urgent, “Every time I’ve tried to talk to him, he’s practically bolted. One of the last times he didn’t even _come to me_ because he thought I was gonna do something. He refuses to listen; he just says that he has to wait it out.”

“Wait it out until what?” she asks, horrified, “He actually gets killed?”

Steve trembles, looking torn between wanting to shout and wanting to cry. She scales back a little. “Steven, I’m not trying to make you more distressed, but you cannot expect me to just forget this.”

“Mom, you can’t. Please, if there’s anything I ever ask from you, please just do this. I’m begging you,” he pleads. “If you really want to show me you love me you won’t do this.”

She recoils, startled by his manipulation. “Steven…”

“Mom, please, just promise me. Promise you won’t say anything, at least for now.” Their mirrored eyes lock and she funds her words dying in her throat. It goes against everything gin her better judgement, but the look in Steve’s eyes was so fierce that for a moment she didn’t want to question it.

“Fine. For now, I won’t say anything.” she agrees. “But so help me god, if I see him like that again…”

“It’s alright, he’ll be fine for a while,” he tries to assure her, and both of them ignore the insinuation of what will happen when “a while” passes.

A thought occurs to her. “Is this because of you two? Has he seen the both of you together?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head, “Just, you know. A general piece of shit.”

“Right,” she says distantly, mind still running with a thousand thoughts.

They both stand there in silence, too consumed in their own headspaces to fill the gaps. When Billy’s footsteps come down the stair slowly, they both snap out of their consumed fog and bustle around the kitchen, trying to look busy. Steve packs the medical bag back up while she finally gets to the groceries still sat on the counter.

“I could help cook,” Billy says from the doorway, “I know where most of the stuff is.”

Well, that explains the Tupperware’s in the fridge a little better. Steve certainly inherited her culinary skills. He’s still holding himself like every movement is an ache. “That’s alright, I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“No, really, it’s okay,” he says, stepping forward. “I wanna help.”

She chances a look at Steve, who’s too busy staring at Billy and looking like he’s desperately trying to hold saying something back. “Maybe next time. Why don’t you two go watch some television, and I’ll call you when it’s ready?”

“Thanks, Mom, we’ll do that,” Steve agrees for the both of them, gently taking Billy’s arm and tugging him with him like he’ll float away if he doesn’t get a grasp on the other boy. She almost accepted, but Steve seemed critically determined to be alone with Billy, at least for the time being.

They disappear, and she turns toward the monstrous cookbook, feeling a million times more exhausted than she had before she even went on the grocery run. She was supposed to make that damn casserole tonight, but the thought of focusing on that tiny print already gives her a pre-emptive headache. She shuts the book after about three seconds of trying to parse it, before getting the salmon out of the fridge instead.

That night, she waits until she’s absolutely sure that Steve and Billy are asleep before she tiptoes down to the kitchen. She could use the line in her bedroom, but the chances of either of them hearing her are greater in there than downstairs.

Richards phone rings twice, before he picks up. “Hello?”

“Richard, it’s me,” she says lowly into the phone, one ear tilted towards the ceiling.

“Vanessa? What time is it over there? Is everything alright?” she can hear the concern even through the tin of the receiver.

She gnaws on her lip for a moment, unsure of what to say. Obviously, everything’s not alright, and she’d love to just spill it all to him over the phone, but Steve’s begging still nags away at her. “Yes, everything’s alright. Well, mostly.”

“Mostly? Is something go on with Steve?”

“It’s… well… Steve-adjacent,” she hedges, “I—I don’t know why I called. I can’t tell you over the phone.” It feels wretched to admit.

His sigh sounds equally as morose. “I know, honey. I’ll be there soon, just a couple more weeks.”

“I know, I know. I just… I don’t know. I needed to hear your voice.” she admits. She debates a second, before tentatively adding, “Steve has a new friend.”

“Oh really? What’s he like?” Richard’s uplifting tone helps cheer her up a bit. They both had been so sad to find out that Steve and Tommy weren’t really friends anymore, and then they grew a bit concerned when the Hagans revealed that Steve didn’t really hang with _any_ of his old crowd anymore. After him and Nancy broke up, they were worried he was spending his lunch periods alone.

“He’s very funny. Also very smart; he’s actually been helping Steve raise his grades.”

“Good man, that’s what I like to hear.” It’s such a man thing to say she has to roll her eyes, thankful that at least Richard can’t see it. “It’s nice to know that he has someone out there.”

If he only knew. “Yeah, he’s a good kid,” she sighs. Even though she was the one who brought the Billy thing up, ruminating on it has her feel dejected about the whole situation again.

Richard must hear her sigh, or just know, because after a couple seconds he says softly, “Are you sure everything is alright over there? If you really need me, I can try to be down there in a couple days.”

“No, no, it should be alright.” She doesn’t mention how Steve will probably still need a little time until his dad comes. Even _her_ arrival didn’t get as warm of a welcome as she had hoped.

“Alright, well, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to; I know it’s hard for you to wake up in the middle of the night.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” he tells her. “Not like I’m sleeping all that much anyway.”

“I’ll let you go, though, I know you’ve gotta get back to work.”

“Okay then, I love you, and be sure to tell Steve as well.”

“I love you too, and I will,” she promises, and puts the phone back in the cradle.

When she turns and sees Billy standing in the doorway, it gives her such a fright she almost screams. She’s still trying to catch her breath by the time he’s done apologizing.

“Wow, you’re sneaky,” she says, still a little breathless, “I didn’t even hear you come down.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he says again. He looks contrite, and unsure at the same time. It doesn’t suit him.

“Why don’t I make us some cocoa?” she offers. “Warm drinks always help me get back to sleep.”

Not really the truth, she’s never actually had much trouble getting to sleep. In fact, she usually sleeps like a log the second her head hits the pillow. Richard on the other hand suffers from both insomnia and a habit of waking up in the middle of the night without being able to get back to sleep. But she’s not about to tell Billy that, not when it looks like a warm drink would do him good.

It’s silent as she boils the water and gets the cocoa mix from the jar in the pantry. Billy doesn’t say anything as she stirs it, even when she drops a couple or marshmallows in. When she slides the mug in front of him, he stares at it for a bit.

“I’m really sorry about all of this,” he says, not looking up from the hot chocolate, “I know that you probably don’t want Steve mixed up in all of this. I don’t blame you.”

Right to the chase, then. “That’s not my main concern, really. I worry about the two of you trying to… tackle something you’re not equipped for.”

He still doesn’t look up but shrugs a shoulder. “Steve really isn’t in the crossfire, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Not really,” she tells him. That makes him look up. “You shouldn’t have to be _dealing_ with this at all, whether you’re my son or not.”

At the mention of _my son_ Billy closes his eyes. It looks like it hurts, with the way the left one is still swollen and angry, but she can also see the tears gathered there and decides it’s kinder to not point it out.

“Are you really not gonna tell anyone?” he asks after a couple minutes of idle sipping.

She taps her fingers on the sides of her mug, heaving a breath. “I really wish you would let me do something. But Steve is adamant that it would only make things worse, no matter how I feel. I owe him something, at least for now. But I won’t lie, I may not be able to keep your secret forever.”

Billy nods at that, looks like he expected it. “I know it’s a lot to ask. I just… I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He doesn’t balk at her bold question. His answer is equally as blunt. “He got custody of me in the first place because he dragged my mom into court and blasted her for being an addict. If I say something against him now, he’ll just do the same to me; only he’ll talk about my record instead, make it seem like I was a danger to him. I never wanna go in another courtroom again.”

She takes a sip of cocoa to steady herself and stop her head from spinning. It doesn’t do much, lukewarm now that they’ve been sat here for at least twenty minutes. “I’m so, so sorry Billy. No one should have to go through that.”

He gives a half shrug that’s just like the one she’s seen Steve doing in the past two weeks. “Like I said, I can deal with it. Steve’s the one who gets more bothered than me.”

She could almost believe it, if she didn’t know how good men were at suppressing any undesirable emotion that cropped up. Billy’s good at pretending like it’s water off a ducks back, but she knows it runs deeper than that. He’s probably used to downplaying it for Steve’s sake, honestly, if her son’s overly empathetic tendencies are anything to judge by.

“It doesn’t matter if you can withstand it, you shouldn’t have to.” She gently prods.

Billy just takes another sip of his hot cocoa, content to let the conversation stay at a stalemate. Now that it’s the two of them again, it would be remiss not to ask. At least to just get some perspective. “Does Steve ever… mention us?”

He wrinkles his brow. “Mention you?”

“His father and I. You—you must notice how often we’re gone from the house. I’m sure Steve has said something about it, at least.”

Billy looks uncomfortable, and she’s quick to backtrack. “Forget I asked, I don’t want to put you on the spot.”

He looks like he debates something for a bit, before scratching his jaw absentmindedly. “Steve doesn’t tell my business, so I won’t tell his. But I know he’s really happy that you’re back, and that his dad’s supposed to come later, if it helps.”

It does, and she’s thankful to Billy for being kind, whether it’s true or not. “Finish that up and then get back to sleep, I can’t imagine you’re not still exhausted.”

He drains the rest of the drink before sliding it to her outstretched hand. “Thanks again for… well, everything.”

She gives him a tired smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to help anyone that treats my Steven right.”

Billy goes pinker than she’s seen his skin tone so far, and it brings her no small amount of accomplishment. “Good night, Ms. Harrington.”

He leaves her in the kitchen to wash the mugs, and she watches him vanish into the shadows as he crosses into the darkened living room.

In the morning, when Billy has left to go home (something that made her purse her lips as she bit her tongue) Steve finds her in the sitting room, rearranging the books on the wall.

“So,” he says from the doorway. He doesn’t startle her like Billy did, though, his steps too clunky to be anything but obvious. “Billy says you and him talked last night.”

Now _that_ makes her turn around. She can’t recall anything from their conversation that might make Steve angry, but she’s still trepidatious anyways. “Yes, we did.”

He inches in, goes directly to the little loveseat on the far wall, where he stands over it and messes with the fringes of one of the decorative pillows. “He told me you said you wouldn’t tell anyone yet.”

She nods, still trying to gauge his mood. “Yes, just what I told you as well.”

He smooths out the pillow, goes to sit down instead. He keeps his head down, though, and folds his arms over his knees, not making eye contact. “He also… he also made it sound like you and I should—um. Talk. About stuff.”

Slowly, she puts down the three books in her arms on the empty shelf and goes to sit in the armchair near Steve. It’s her fault for prying into Billy’s life and not expecting him to do the same, come up with his own assertions.

Steve doesn’t wait for her to start, just goes right into it. “Don’t get me wrong; I love you guys and I know that I’m really really lucky to have you as my parents. I mean… in comparison…” she knows they’re both thinking of Billy in that moment.

“I guess… I don’t know,” he continues, “It just. Really sucks not having you guys here, like, at all. I know that you guys are busy and everything, but…sometimes…”

“You just need us?” she asked, voice tight with emotion.

He nodded, still looking down at his hands. Reaching out, she cupped his knee so he would look at her, and when he did, she was unsurprised to see a sheen of moisture over his eyes.

“We always thought we were giving you what every kid wants: freedom. I don’t know where it got twisted down the line into us leaving you for long stints… but I’m so sorry. We thought that being able to provide for you was enough, when we should have actually been here.”

Steve wiped his eyes. “You know I really don’t care about that, right? We could live in a one-bedroom condo and I would still love you guys.”

She gave him a watery smile. “I know, honey, it’s just one of those irrational adult things. You know, your father’s family really didn’t have anything, and when his parents died, he felt like… it was starting all the way back from the beginning. I think after that, it made him value security and stability more than anything else. We’re both the same, in the sense that we think ‘solving’ things is all we really need to do to take care of them.”

“I didn’t know that. About Dad, I mean.” Steve said, still watching.

“Well, of course you wouldn’t. It’s something he seldom talks about, even with me.” she admitted. “What I’m trying to say, though, is that your father and I dearly love you, we just don’t always know how to express it well. But we’re going to work on it, I promise you.”

He grabbed her hand and held it in his, squeezing it a little until she squeezed back firmer. “I’m happy that you’re here,” he said at last, “And I love you guys too, no matter what.”

She reached over and enfolded him into her arms, and when her face was hidden into his shoulder, she finally let the tears fall. She was sure Steve was doing the same, but it was still too raw for either of them to say anything. The silence that settled was a comfortable one.

~

Once she moved on from organizing her books, she was struck with the urge of going through her records. They were all stored in the basement, along with the record player, and it was no small amount of effort to lug bot the machine and boxes up so she could inspect them without dealing with the damp of the downstairs.

She spent more time squealing over forgotten records and taking them off and putting them back on again than she really did with sorting. She knew she would probably keep most of them anyways. Her and Richard had been _obsessed_ with any sort of concert they could get into, and they both had a music taste that spanned most genres.

When she found the George McCrae album, she nearly broke it with how fiercely she clutched it. Roller disco had been one of her _favorite_ things to do, no matter how much crap Richard gave her for it. Something about the smooth vocals, harmonies, beat in the background perfectly in sync… all of it just came together in the best ways.

She was so busy blasting _Rock Your Baby_ that she didn’t even hear the front door open. Vanessa was still singing at the top of her lungs when Steve came into her line of sight, goofy grin on his face and fingers plugged into his ears. She turned down the volume.

“What’s this? It sounds familiar.”

“Oh I’m sure it does,” she said, already reaching to tug his hands down. “I used to _love_ this song. It came out when you were about four or five. I loved to skate to it.”

“Oh yeah!” his eyes lit up. “I remember now!” That was awesome.”

“You think so?” she laughed. “I could never get your father into it. I think he was just resentful he didn’t have the grace.”

“Yeah, I probably wouldn’t do that much better either. I’m not even a good dancer.”

“What?” she said, flabbergasted. “No son of mine is a _bad dancer_. You simply haven’t been taught correctly.”

She held out her hands, wiggling her fingers until Steve rolled his eyes and took them.

“Your first lesson is dancing to disco. Once you’re good at dancing to disco, anything will be easy.” She told him.

“Really?”

“Well,” she shrugged, “Probably not. But I want to dance to this song right now.”

She spun him around and he let her, laughing the whole time. They spent the next half hour going through her old disco records, dance moves getting increasingly more ridiculous as each song went on. It was the most she’d laughed and smiled in a while, and it was reassuring to find Steve looking like he felt the same as well. They spun around and danced until their sides started hurting from giggling too hard.

~

Vanessa knew that keeping a secret like Billy’s was not a wise choice. As a mother, it made her feel like even more of a failure for watching a child get hurt and not doing anything about it, but the few times afterwards when she tried to talk to Steve about it, he was still adamant that she not say anything. Billy seemed content to just pretend like that night never happened, even when there were still edges of green curling around his eye. He was at least good about not messing with the split lip.

She couldn’t help but stare at it under the fluorescent lights of the Mini-Mart. Billy was perusing the sauce section, intent on whatever specific type he was looking for. With the bruise, and the bags under his eyes, he looked half-miserable. When he felt her staring, he shifted so he was facing the other direction of the aisle.

It was enough to make her snap out of it. Staring was rude, no matter what the situation. “So, what kind of sauce did you say it was again?”

“It’s like a soy sauce, but thicker,” he said, still scanning the shelves. Finally, he found what he was looking for and picked it off the shelf, showing her the dark brown-red sauce in the bottle.

She shrugged, not really knowing any better. “Looks good to me.”

Billy had actually been able to showcase some of his skills in the kitchen, and she was impressed with how good of a cook he actually was. Not that either her or Steve were good at all, so of course the standard was pretty low, but it was obvious that Billy at least knew his way around the kitchen. He had offered to write her down a couple of the recipes he knew offhand, and then after a bit of begging had agreed to walk her through some of the dishes first. She didn’t trust herself _fully_ with being able to put together a full meal.

She drove her, Steve, and Billy to the Mini-Mart for a run of supplies, excited and determined to try her hand at some kind of chicken teriyaki stir-fry that Billy had swore by. Billy walked the aisles with her, gathering ingredients, while Steve _of course_ felt the need to go check out the magazine rack first thing upon entry.

They had turned down another aisle, list almost halfway done, when Billy suddenly stiffened next to her. The change was so immediate she stopped in her tracks, just a quarter of the aisle down. On the other end stood a tall, thin man. Her first impression was that he was probably the peak definition of nondescript, with the forgettable face and the blandness of his clothing. When he turned and caught sight of Billy, however, he transformed into something different.

Immediately she knew this was Billy’s father; both from the way Billy was stock-still and radiating fear next to her, and how the man’s eyes narrowed dangerously for half a second. He came striding over, eyes cutting and taking her in. She had hardly ever been afraid of a _man_ in her life, but Mr. Hargrove’s approaching figure made her heart pound.

“Billy, what are you doing here? And with…” He trailed, looking at the both of them before turning back to Billy for an answer.

She didn’t need to glance over to know Billy was probably as white as a sheet, and she was afraid he might not say anything at all. “Karen Wheeler,” she said, mind going on autopilot. She stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

He politely shook hers, with a grip that was neither too soft nor too tight. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. What brings Billy here with you?” he looked back at Billy.

She cut in again, adrenaline running high and making her mouth run just like Steve’s when he was stressed, “Oh, Billy was just helping me get together some ingredients for Nancy’s surprise birthday dinner, he’s such a doll for helping me out.”

Mr. Hargrove wrinkled his brow. “Nancy?” he asked, still somehow managing to make it sound courteous.

“Oh, they’ve been seeing each other the past couple of months,” she babbled, feeling like a true crazy person now, “I was stumped on what ingredients to get so Billy offered to come help me. I’m not keeping him from you, am I?”

If there was one thing that was trustworthy, it was warm brown eyes. Billy’s dads in comparison were an ice blue that made her feel like he was reading right through everyone one of her lies. When he finally smiled, she could feel both her and Billy unclench a little in a sense of relief.

“Well, I’m happy that Billy’s being so helpful. Wish he were that way at _our_ house,” he winked and chuckled, and she hoped he didn’t notice how weak her own laugh was in response, “I’ll see you later at home, son, don’t be too late getting in.”

He gave her a nod, before going to move past them. As he moved, he gripped Billy’s shoulder and squeezed. Billy didn’t react, not even when his father cleared the aisle and turned down the store.

She pushed the cart for a couple seconds, Billy walking next to her at a sedate pace. She guided them down towards the spices, at the far end of the store, Billy still drifting beside her and not saying anything. When they finally turned in, she deflated like a balloon, almost slumping over the cart. Billy took a couple steadying breaths and stared back and forth between the entrances of the aisle like he was keeping guard.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I did that,” she said, mostly to herself. “I don’t know why I said that. “

Billy shook a little next to her. She turned to him abruptly. “Was that okay? Should I not have said anything? Did I make it worse?”

He took in a shuttered breath, finally speaking for the first time since they had seen his dad. “No… that was—that was perfect. I didn’t even think I was gonna be able to say anything.”

She wrung her hands fretfully. “I really should not have lied like that, to a man like your father. I don’t know what else I could have said that wouldn’t have gotten you in trouble, but I’m afraid that I made the situation worse. If he finds out that none of that is true…”

They both jumped when Steve turned the corner and crowed, “ _Finally_ , I’ve been looking everywhere—” he stopped at the sight of their expressions.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” he asked, walking towards them.

Rather than explaining, she dug in her purse and fished out her keys. “Go wait in the car, okay? Billy and I will finish up shopping.”

Steve didn’t take them, brow furrowing as he looked between them. “Wait, what? Why do I have to go back to the car?”

“Steven,” she said, uncharacteristically shifting into the tone that brooked no argument, “Take the keys and wait in the car. We’ll be out in just a moment.”

He looked between them again, looking like he wanted to protest, but finally huffed and snatched the keys out of her palm. He stalked away without looking back, but she didn’t let herself get miffed with his attitude, not when her heart was still racing out of her chest. It felt like a rush of endorphins.

She knew it was probably overkill, but she was afraid if Billy’s father was still in the store and saw them checking out with Steve as an add-on, he might grow suspicious. Vanessa also wasn’t keen on the chance of Billy’s dad remembering Steve’s face in the future.

They didn’t bother getting the rest of the ingredients, and while she didn’t even particularly feel like completing the grocery trip, they knew it would be suspicious if they just abandoned the cart.

Billy’s dad wasn’t in sight whenever they were checking out, and she purposefully pretended that she was unbothered while Billy stood like a tightly coiled spring to her side. She almost wanted to tell him to calm down, take a breath, but she didn’t think it would be that much help.

When they got back to the car, she silenced Steve’s questions with another look, feeling too stressed and out of sorts to just leap into an explanation. Billy didn’t say anything either, but whenever they got back to the house Steve dragged him upstairs to ostensibly talk anyways.

She couldn’t stop shaking. Obviously, she was probably being paranoid, but it felt like she had just committed a grievous mistake. Mr. Hargrove had unnerved her the entire time; looking at her like one would look at a bug under a microscope. The way he looked at Billy was even worse, threatening him with eyes alone in a way that made her feel scared by osmosis. Vanessa had never been a liar, was actually pretty crappy at it in general, so she avoided it like the plague. In that moment, she barely had a second thought before her mouth was running, probably sounding suspicious with how chatty she had been. She didn’t regret concealing the real reason why Billy was there with her, staunchly refusing to put Steve in Mr. Hargrove’s line of sight, but she still knew that lying to a grown man like _that_ was not a good move.

Casting her eyes to the second floor, where she knew Billy was probably giving Steve the low-down, she finally came to a decision. It was high time to stop listening to children, especially when they were dealing with adult matters. She should have never convinced Steve and Billy to talk her into keeping it a secret, not when a man like Mr. Hargrove could communicate threats that easily.

Without giving it another thought, or how Steve and Billy would surely react, she dialed the phone. It picked up after one ring.

“Hello?”

“Richard,” she said, keeping her voice low but serious, “I need you to come home now.”

~

Billy wasn’t there for the fallout of Steve’s dad coming home as a surprise, but Steve made enough racket for the both of them.

“You _told him_?” he yelled, the volume so unlike him that it made them both reel back a bit. “You said you wouldn’t, you _promised_ you wouldn’t to the _both of us_!”

“Steven, you will not yell at your mother like that.” Richard cut in before she could offer any platitudes, “Now, I understand you’re _upset_ , but you can’t expect us to just sit idle while—”

“Why not?” Steve interrupted, looking like he was about to tear his own hair out, “You do it _every other time_ , and now the one time I need you to you suddenly have a change of heart?!”

They both faltered at that for a second, before Vanessa got her strength back. “Steven, you don’t know how dangerous this all is. Billy could be in serious danger, especially if his father realizes… some things.” she didn’t go into further detail than that, cutting her eyes Richard’s way.

She hadn’t told Richard the true extent of Steve and Billy’s relationship, but he was still just as incensed to find out any friend of Steve’s was suffering so horribly at his own father’s hand, as well that Vanessa had unknowingly placed herself into a precarious situation by lying to the man. He had booked a flight and gotten there two days later, and when Vanessa came back from the airport with him Steve had known almost immediately why his dad had come earlier than he was supposed to.

“Mom, you don’t _get it_. What if dad does something, and Billy still has to stay with him until they go to court? Or until the charges actually go through? What if his dad still _wins_ and then Billy has to go back home?” He looked between them both, vitriol in his gaze. “His dad will _murder_ him.”

“Steven,” Richard rubbed his forehead, looking like he wanted to be in any other place in the world than here. “You cannot seriously expect us to just… turn a blind eye when your friend is being hurt. What happens when his father goes too far anyways, hm? What happens if he’s not able to go to the hospital, and something horrible happens then?”

Steve just kept shaking his head, face streaming with tears but still looking furious. “I won’t let you get him in trouble like that, not if I can help it.”

“Honey,” she braced herself, hating what she was about to say but knowing they needed to get through to him, “You’re not helping him by letting it just continue like this. Let us help you help him.”

He searched both of their faces, still looking angry, before his face hardened. He turned to Richard, coming to some sort of conclusion. “Would you still help him if you knew he was my boyfriend?”

She slaps a hand over her face while Richard says, “Huh?”

“That’s right,” Steve spits, now on another roll. “Do you still care? What are you gonna do now?”

Richard gapes like a fish, looking back and forth between Vanessa and Steve. His hands are flopping uselessly at his sides over and over. “Now I’m _really_ not following the logic. If he’s your boyfriend, why wouldn’t you _want_ to help him?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose while Steve just looks on in shock, obviously not having expected this. “I appreciate the theatrics, dear, but it’s not going to work. Like I said before: your father and I love you _no matter what_.”

He shrinks down, then, once he realizes that he’s not about to get some grandiose ultimatum or verbal lashing. Her and Richard take this moment to step towards him slowly, still wary of another tirade. Steve doesn’t do anything, though, just stands there with his fists clenched at his sides and eyes down to the carpet. When she gets close enough, she can see the fresh tear tracks streaking silver lines down his face.

“Baby,” she says carefully, reaching out to shakily push back his hair, “Don’t you think we’ll take care of everything? And we’ll make sure that Billy is safe?”

He stays silent, still too overcome to say anything. She’s about to speak again when Richard pipes up instead. “Son, I know this is really important, especially to you, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure it’s taken care of, alright? I’m going to take care of it.”

Steve looks up at him then, searching his face. Vanessa wonders if he’s thinking back on their conversation, the way she explained how Richard’s mind worked. He must understand something, because he gives a little nod in the end, and let’s them both wrap him in a hug.

Later, when Steve is in his room and Richard slips into bed, they discuss what he revealed.

“When did he tell you?” he asks in the dark, right after she flicks off the lamp.

She sighs. “He didn’t tell me. I found out, on accident, the first day.” She doesn’t go into detail, wanting to spare Steve a little.

He’s quiet for a moment. “You know, I actually can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Really?” she asks, rolling over, “I was definitely taken off guard.”

The bedsheets crinkle as he shifts to face her too. “Oh, come on. Do you remember when Tommy started dating Carol in middle school? That solid two weeks afterwards where he moped around the house?”

“Tommy? Really?” she wrinkles her nose. “If anyone had a crush on anyone in that situation, it’d be him with Steve.”

“Well, thank god it’s not him. Could you imagine having the Hagans as in-laws?”

She makes a sound of disgust. “They would tell us every holiday about how being _democrats_ brainwashed the both of them. Not to mention that godawful ambrosia salad she attempts every Thanksgiving.”

They both pretend to give a little shudder, before subsiding into chuckles. After a couple seconds of comfortable silence, Richard speaks up again.

“First thing tomorrow we’re going to have Billy over, so I can properly meet him and try to see what kind of cooperation I can get with him. I already left a voicemail on Leonard’s machine so I’m sure he’ll call before 10. If I can tidy everything up, we could be heading to the firm by noon to see about our options.”

She reaches out to stroke his cheek. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but Steve will be thankful that we did this. I know it’ll all turn out okay.”

He catches her fingers and gives her a kiss. “I know, I know. Just gotta tell the brain to shut off sometimes.”

They say goodnight, and she drifts off feeling a sense of relief and comfort as the knot in her chest loosens.

~

Billy is, as to be expected, combative when he realizes who Richard is and what he’s there to do. Richard asks him for a moment alone in his office, ignoring Steve’s crows of protest, and Billy agrees. They sit in there for almost forty-five minutes. Vanessa _knows_ this because the entire time Steve took turns between pacing and checking the clock over the wall.

By the time they come out, Billy looks a lot more subdued, and Richard looks a little worse for wear. She tried asking him about what they talked about, but Richard was staunchly reticent, so she gave up after a couple of tries. Knowing them both, it was probably some kind of a stilted conversation about masculine pride and emotions. That’s probably why Richard walked out looking like he was constipated.

Whatever he did say worked, though, because soon after that Billy and Richard took a ride to the law firm he stayed as a client for whenever he had dealings in the United States. Brauer & Bush had been around for quite some time, and wasn’t accepting of just _any_ clientele, and boasted a high rate of settlements, rather than trials.

Billy obviously wasn’t going to go through a settlement for his type of situation, but he had been adamant in his decision not to go to court so Richard had brought him to Leonard to say what they could do. He had been under the impression that his dad would be able to whip out his record and ruin his case before it even started, but Leonard had laughed that off and waved it away. Billy had two other records that were majorly important, that he didn’t even know about.

One was his almost flawless academic record, rife with compliments from teachers in past schools and praises for his exceptional test scores and advanced placement classes. The other was the detailed depiction of at least four separate hospital visitations he’d made in California, documented, and noted on his file by the nurses. That one had taken a while to obtain, but Leonard was ruthless, and had his paralegal out on a round trip to California there and back in the span of five days.

Richard was there every step of the way, there to help Billy translate the legal jargon that floated around them for weeks. It had still taken a bit to get his suit together, so they hadn’t been able to immediately press charges, but it had all finally come together by the beginning of May. Vanessa made sure that both Steven and Billy were on top of their studies while it was going on, refusing to let anything slip by the wayside and prevent them from graduating. There still was a month of the school year out, but she was confident they’d both make it out alright.

Billy’s father was caught completely off guard, the serving papers giving him 30 days to find a lawyer in Hawkins County that would take on Leonard Brauer. He didn’t have much luck. When he was able to find one, it was obvious he had relied upon the character of Billy for his defense and had looked out of his mind when Leonard had brandished his _own_ character testimony back.

There was some collateral, though, if it could be considered that. Vanessa had never given much thought to the stepsister or stepmother that Billy had mentioned once or twice, being so caught up in everything else. When the allegations were initially made, though, there had been some concern voiced for the presence of the stepdaughter in the family and whether she was at risk as well. Vanessa was worried there’d be some kick-back from the wife, maybe something to throw a small wrench in the plans.

They all were surprised, however, when Ms. Mayfield instead filed for divorce, once the charges were officially declared. Leonard was absolutely beside himself, almost offered to connect her with an attorney for her separation. The mother and daughter moved in with the sister of the mother, if what she could remember was correct. They still lived near Hawkins, though, near enough for Billy to meet up with this stepsister. Now the old Hargrove house on Cherry Grove sat uninhabited, with a FOR SALE sign panted in the yard.

After the (very) brief hearing, Billy was able to secure a protection order for at least up to one year. Once he was 18 it really wouldn’t matter, but it was there in place just in case. The afternoon after the final meeting, Billy hugged both her and Richard outside of the building, trembling the entire time while he did so. He didn’t say anything, but that was okay, they knew what he meant. The both of them had been able to get granted a temporary guardianship, since Billy’s birthday was only a month or so out. She knew they didn’t have to; Ms. Mayfield had offered to take Billy in with her and her sister, but Vanessa refused, feeling like it was exactly the right thing for her to do.

Richard had had to jet soon afterwards, though, having to go back to work after nearly two months absent. He hugged Steve fiercely before leaving, gripping tight and looking like he was near tears. Steve was just as bad, clinging back fiercely and trying to blink away his own.

She was due back herself to work in two weeks, and three months had been the longest she’d ever gone without stepping into her office. It was a strange feeling, going back into the swing of things like she hadn’t just been through the wringer, but she felt more confident leaving Steve this time than she had in the past.

She would be back for Steve’s graduation, and then home for the entire month of July. Richard would visit for Steve’s graduation, and then come a week before she was due to spend the rest of the summer with them as well. Steve tried to downplay how pleased he was with the plans, but Vanessa could tell that he was happy.

It kept making her gloomy to think about her impending return to work, but it was easier to go knowing that everything wasn’t so broken left behind. Especially when she got to share moments like this with Steve, feeling bright and warm and happy at the dinner table as they waited for Billy to serve them up. Yeah, okay, she _still_ wasn’t a great cook, but why bother when Billy cooked almost every night anyway?

“Okay, this is stir-fry, part two.” Billy said, delicately placing the bowls down in front of them.

She thanked him, while Steve asked, “What happened to the first one?”

Billy laughed instead of wincing, which was a comfort. “That’s when your mom was a total badass and lied straight to my dad’s face.”

Her face went red as Steve cheered. “Score one for mom, never know you had it in you.”

“Honestly, I didn’t either,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m surprised my pants didn’t catch on fire then and there.”

She was rewarded with a groan by both Steve _and_ Billy, the former saying, “Mom that was, like, one of the lamest things you could have said.”

“I’m a mom. It’s what I do.” she shrugged.

The rest of the dinner was that same, warm energy that she had come to treasure. The yellow lamps in the dining room cast a warm glow over the rest of them while they ate, and she felt like she was suffused with content.

**Author's Note:**

> soooo i know a popular interpretation of steve's parents are a.) his dad being a major douchebag, and b.) his mom either being a trophy wife, alcoholic, or both, but i never really vibed with that all that much lol. i hope i got the characterization of everyone right, i was also a little nervous about the pacing in this story in regards to steve's interactions w/ his mom and also including the amount of harringrove my heart craved lol. i hope you guys really enjoy it, it was fun for me to write :)


End file.
